A Game I Didn’t Want To Play
by Relativity1953
Summary: The Winchesters begin a hunt at a remote country estate, only to end up trapped there when rain washes away the road. Now, they must hunt for a spirit in a house with 13 other people around, 10 of which have no knowledge of the supernatural.
1. Part 1

(1)

**A Game I Didn't Want To Play**

(1)

"So," Dean began as they approached the highway exit ramp, "who are we again?" Apparently, Sam had finally mocked his older brother's choice of pseudonyms one too many times and Dean snapped. For the last three and a half months, any and all assumed names were now Sam's responsibility. Of course, that didn't stop Dean from constantly asking about the names and/or complaining about them. In fact, it guaranteed it.

"We are Sam and Dean Winter-"

"Dean and Sam Winter. Right."

"Right," Sam said with a twist of his lips that was half amused, half annoyed. "And, before you even start, I did not choose the last name-"

"_Before I even start_?" Dean interrupted again, with false indignation. "I don't have the faintest idea-"

"Dean!" Sam cut him off, then calmed himself with a deep breath. And then one more for safety's sake. Taking out his notes, he began rehashing the details of the hunt they were driving towards. "It's pretty simple – standard really. Bobby's friend called him up… a guy named 'Dom'. Well, Dom's wife-"

"Whoa, wait a minute. Dom's married?" Dean asked incredulously. "I've met that guy, worked with him once or twice. If ever there was a dude most likely to remain a life-long bachelor… and not by choice, of course…" he amended, realizing that he himself was also a candidate for that title – though, in his case, it wasn't exactly due to a lack of chicks wanting to make an honest man out of him. Not that he really minded when they attempted to persuade him or anything.

"Dom's wife, Sierra…" Sam continued as if he had never been disrupted. "Actually, Sierra's sister Jetta and Jetta's husband-"

"Jeez, who names these people?" Dean muttered half-heartedly. He was still trying to wrap his brain around the knowledge that Dominic Reed had gotten married.

"Jetta and her husband, Rex, inherited a home from Rex's great aunt… wait a minute…" Sam shook his head, hair flying every which way, and flipped through his notes flustered, annoyed that he'd lost track of what he was saying.

"So," Dean cut in, sounding serious this time, trying to sum up, "a friend-of-a-friend inherited a haunted house."

"Huh?" Sam eloquently questioned. He was still half lost in thought and his notes.

"Bobby's friend's wife's sister's husband inherited a haunted house."

Sam just blinked at his brother. And possibly said 'huh' again.

"Yeah, you're right," Dean said, completely ignoring the too-easy jibe about his college-educated little brother's intelligent line of questioning – he would never have stood a chance against Matlock or McCoy. "I guess that's not technically a FoaF. It's more of a friend-of-a-friend of-a-friend of-a-friend of-a-friend inherited a haunted house." It wasn't the typically smug or amused smile that graced Dean's face, but it was damn close.

"I hate you."

(2)

"Take a left here," Sam instructed. "According to Google, we should reach the bridge in about two minutes."

"So, what ever happened to eccentric old relatives who leave everything to a cat shelter except for the ugly-ass lamp that only looks like a Tiffany or the complete set of seventh edition water-logged Nancy Drew paperbacks?"

"I think that only happens in Disney animated classics or bad live-action movies, you know, to further the plot… or be the plot… or whatever." Sam laughed. "Hey, there's the bridge. How fast are you going anyway? That was definitely _not_ two minutes."

"Yeah, well, you said that we were supposed to meet with this Lex guy at 1:00. It's already ten after. Oh, and you're the one who had to make three potty pit-stops on the way here Sammy."

"First of all, _Lex_ is Superman's arch-nemesis. _Rex_ is the name of the man we are meeting. Rex Blackburne. And second, we've been driving since yesterday morning Dean! You've only slept four of the last forty-eight hours, if that. I know because that's the only time you let me drive. And, you've had more than five times the amount of coffee I've had. It's not humanly possible, natural, or healthy to have the degree of control that you seem to possess over your body and its functions."

Then, in a huff, Sam folded his arms and turned to pout at the trees outside of the passenger-side window.

He really wanted to say something, but Dean honestly had no response for his little brother's uncharacteristic emotional outburst.

(3)

"Now remember," Sam said, speaking once again to his brother as Dean maneuvered the Impala up the narrow, winding path that they hoped led to the Blackburne Estate. The driveway, if you could even call the mud and stone road that, was completely overgrown with weeds and shrubs and trees. Little light was able to peek through and there was no visual evidence of a house or, indeed, any human existence beyond the wild-growing flora.

"Remember, the Blackburnes have been trying to renovate the estate, which is probably what caused the spirit or spirits to make themselves known. It also means that we won't be the only living humans there."

At the quick, questioning glance Dean gave him before turning his eyes back to the hazardous drive, Sam continued.

"The Blackburnes had been living in Nevada, Dean. They just about jumped at the chance to move into a country house in New England since they had been talking of starting a family. Rex had stayed at the estate…" Sam flipped the page of his notebook, "about five years ago. The place seemed to be in pretty good shape then."

"But, a lot can happen in five years," Dean concluded, and Sam nodded in agreement. And, as if trying to prove the point, the path took a particularly sharp turn, first right, and then immediately left. Dean let out a deep breath after dodging an evil-looking claw of a tree branch intent on scratching his girl.

"Right," Sam said, after taking a deep breath as well. "When Rex and Jetta moved in, the place was livable, but had more quirks and imperfections than the wealthy couple were willing to let slide. They began planning and calling professionals, and currently there could be as few as two people or as many as twenty in and around the estate – plus the Blackburnes themselves."

"Great." The word was sarcastically grumbled. It was always harder to search a building with others around. The Winchesters had become accustomed to looking around, making observations and declaring theories aloud – bouncing ideas off of one another and basically having the other's back should the need arise. And that's the way Dean liked it. It was the simplest and safest way – if such words could be used to describe any aspect of hunting."

But, add a few civilians into the mix – especially non-believers, as most people are apt to be – and life gets a whole lot more complicated. If Dean had his way, he'd like most folks to remain blissfully ignorant. He'd also keep them away from haunted locations and otherwise dangerous places so they wouldn't get hurt and couldn't witness things they didn't understand, leading him to be branded a 'bad guy' or arrested or worse.

Sam would have rolled his eyes and chastised his brother for the lousy attitude had he not felt the same way. Well, mostly the same – he was also tired of running from the police and FBI and whoever else deemed themselves as some sort of law enforcement, not to mention running into demons and monsters and such that weren't under the impression that they were working towards the public good. But, the role of _persona non grata_ seemed to fall on Dean more often than not, and as anxious as Sam was about his possible demonic destiny, the idea of his big brother getting incarcerated or injured was his greatest fear. He really didn't want to think about what could be _worse_ than the positions and conditions Dean had already been through.

"Well, on the bright side," Sam said, trying to combat the sudden downward spiral of his mood, "the homeowners know who we are and what we do. I mean, they hired us… in a manner of speaking. We won't have to shell out any cash for a motel room or food. And, they are willing to cooperate and help in any way they can… they just want to put everything back to normal-"

"Normal?" Dean grumbled, then huffed.

"Well, normal for them," Sam tried.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning," Sam began, sounding like a strange cross between a well-meaning elementary school teacher Dean once had and their father, "no more specters or spooks – and that's an exact quote – and a house they can comfortably live and raise a family in."

Dean nodded once, pointedly, and with no expression on his face. Whether it was in agreement with the home-owners wants or merely an understanding of them, even Dean himself didn't know. And, he definitely didn't want to think too deeply on it.

(4)

Dean had it on the tip of his tongue to start complaining about finding a way to turn around – he really did not want to have to try and guide the Impala back to the beginning of the path in reverse – when the forest of untamed vegetation thinned and then disappeared completely to give them full view of the Blackburne Estate and grounds.

"Wow," Sam said softly and in slight wonder. "So this is how the other half lives."

_Other half of what_, was what Dean wanted to say aloud, then bit his tongue at the last second. He really didn't want to start the age old debate with Sam. They had gone over and over the _normal_ life vs. the hunting life, the _safe_ life vs. the hunting life, and even the _better_ life vs. the hunting life. It never got them anywhere because certain words did not seem to mean the same thing to each of them. It was almost as if they were arguing in two different languages – actually, it was exactly like that – and therefore they would continue to agree to disagree… though, truth be told, Sam had not preached the virtues of _normal_ living for quite some time. And, to be honest, Dean didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

As they approached the estate, the mud and stone path gave way to loose gravel, then finally a paved stretch of road up to the large, open iron bar gate. To the right of the house was an angled attached, large two-car garage. Opposite that – mirror image, really – there was an identical detached garage. And, between the two was a paved area that looked very much like a small parking lot, as there were a number of vehicles parked there already.

First was a light blue pick-up with a tall cover on the back, the bed filled with wood and shingles and tools. Next were two over-sized utility vans, one was army green and had a light bulb and the name _Meriol Brothers Electric_ on the back, and the other was white with red letters proclaiming _R & R Plumbing_. There was a canary yellow SUV with matching stenciled, script letters on the back window – the name _Amber Jessamy_ and a phone number were flagged with a yellow daisy. And last was another pick-up, not nearly as nice or new as the first – it looked as if it was orange once but had jaundiced rust in many places – that was filled with small bushes, sod, large bags of mulch or seeds, tools, and a sizeable tarp folded to the side, obviously used in place of a hard shell cover.

In the attached garage sat a big black Hummer, dwarfing the sporty little black Boxter convertible next to it. In the detached garage was a beautiful '65 Chevy Bel Air convertible with raspberry-colored interior. It looked as though it was painted in a sparkling black, but when the sun hit the trunk, there was a reddish shine. Black Cherry – Dean was impressed. He thought about parking next to the beauty in the empty spot in the garage, but decided to just park in the lot with the other workers' and guests' cars.

Pulling into an open spot, they could now see towards the back of the estate. That seemed to be where all the action was taking place. There was scaffolding and ladders lining the back and side of the house. There were also extension cords and hoses running back and forth across the lawn. Hammers sounded from the far corner of the yard and echoed from above on the roof. Underneath the pounding, shovels could be heard digging delicately from somewhere near the house and more deeply from further out onto the grounds. And voices came from all around and inside the house.

The Winchesters, or Winters, stepped out of the car and closed their doors in a simultaneous creak then crack. No one came around to see the cause of the noise, but a disruption of the cacophony could be detected. That was fine. They weren't sneaking in. They had been invited.

They walked straight to the back yard and finally saw people. There was a woman on the roof and one planting knee-high shrubs around a wooden deck set at the middle of the house. There was a man planting larger bushes around the perimeter of the lawn. There was a man in an army green work suit on some of the high up, second story scaffolding talking and passing wires and tools back and forth through an open window to another man in a matching outfit. There was a man in worn jeans and a flannel shirt hammering a staircase into place that ran from the deck up to a second story terrace with a landing in the middle large enough for a table or grill. He was talking with another man, who wore dark grey slacks and a light grey-blue button-down shirt.

_Just great_, Dean thought. Seven people, and that was just counting those he could see. According to the vehicles in the lot, there was also a plumber – or plumbers – running around somewhere, and who knows how many others.

Sam took the lead and walked out to the man in more formal clothing than the rest. Feeling their eyes on his back, the man turned around and smiled.

"Ah, Sam," he said, shaking Sam's hand, then turned to Dean to do the same. "And Dean."

"Yes," Sam said, surprised. "I'm sorry. Have we met before?"

"Oh no," he laughed. "But I _was_ given a pretty good description of you both by my brother-in-law. And, of course, you _are_ the only other people that we were expecting. Shall we go inside and talk," he then lowered his voice, "in private?"

"Sure, of course," Sam told him and followed the man into the house through a back door, through a slightly furnished sun room, down a long hallway towards the front of the house.

At first glance, the man seemed completely together and at ease, dressed smartly and carrying himself well. But as they followed him through the house, there were noticeable signs that that wasn't exactly true any more. While he was obviously once all of these things, the strain of his current predicament had caught up with him. The slight hunch forward of his shoulders made him seem smaller than his actual height – probably very close to Dean's 6'1" if Sam had to guess. His clothing, that had most likely fit before moving into the estate, hung a bit loosely on him from his recent weight loss. His face appeared older than it should have and his black hair was graying around the temples prematurely.

"Please," he said, opening a door, "come in. Lucky for me, the one room that seemed to be easily fixed up, well easy as in I was able to do the work myself, was this one – my study, or den, home office. Whatever," he said with a smile. Closing the door behind them and gesturing to a couple of comfortable looking chairs, he sat across from them behind a desk and introduced himself.

"As I am sure you figured out, I am Rex Blackburne. I will have to introduce you to Jetta later. She's out shopping with her sister. Hopefully, that includes some groceries. I heard the weather report earlier – supposed to be getting a storm coming through. I should have asked Sonny to start with the overgrown forest devouring the path up here, but Jet spoke with him first and, well, we obviously don't have the same priorities on that one. And I wouldn't trust her car on that mud after a heavy rain. My car would make it, of course, but it's really too wide to take that road before the trees are cut back at all…"

Rex looked up, seemingly embarrassed. Dean nodded, taking in any and all important information, filtering out the extraneous portions. Sam, on the other hand, smiled in indulgence. He enjoyed listening to the personal details, irrelevant though they may be, he was given.

"Oh, I am so sorry," Rex said with a discomfited laugh. "I have found myself rambling on and on lately to anyone unfortunate enough to actually listen to me."

"It's all right," Sam told him. "I am sure you have a lot on your mind. Sometimes rambling seems to be the only way to work through it all. I mean, the move, the renovations-"

"The house guests," Dean cut in. "Welcome or otherwise."

"Dean," Sam said lowly and with warning, himself embarrassed now by his tactless brother.

"No," Rex said, "no, he's right. The sooner we get down to business, the sooner we – I mean, _you_ – can take care of this thing."

"Do you have any ideas about what this _thing_ is?" Dean asked.

"Well, I was talking to Dom at lunch a week or so ago. I told him a few things I had noticed about the house – not going into too much detail, of course. I didn't want him to think I was crazy. Though now, I guess I could tell him almost anything – Big Foot's running around in my back yard and there are fairies in the flower beds – and he's probably dealt with the same thing or knows someone who has."

"Well," Dean said with a slight grin, "if it makes you feel any better, Big Foot isn't actually real."

Rex laughed and seemed to relax a little bit.

"I guess that's one thing I don't have to worry about then. But this… thing… I don't know what you'd call it. It started with little things at first – missing items, furniture being moved without my wife or I having done it or seen it happen, strange smells appearing and disappearing, sudden temperature fluctuations. That was all strange and making me start to think I _was_ going crazy. But, then it got worse.

"I attributed it all to stress in the beginning. And even when stranger things started to happen – like seeing someone watching me out of the corner of my eye – I explained it away as the various workers around the house, or even memories from my childhood – remembering, _seeing_ my auntie reading one of her many books in the library or my uncle in the kitchen watching the geese settle down in the pond out back. But it was happening more and more. And not just to me. Jetta told me that she had been seeing people – different people – around the house. She would pass a room and jump back, swearing someone had just been inside watching her. There was never anyone there.

"And there have been sounds, too. The worst one was on a Sunday night, before any of the workers had arrived, Jetta and I were in bed watching television when we heard a loud crash. To me, it sounded like someone had suddenly angled the china hutch in such a way that all of the dishes fell out and smashed onto the wooden floor. We listened for a moment to make sure that a burglar had not broken in, then we quietly got up – I grabbed a bat and Jet took out her old golf putter – and we went to find out what had happened…"

"What?" Sam finally asked softly when Rex hesitated. The man looked at Sam and then Dean, fear in his eyes.

"Nothing," he whispered. "Absolutely nothing was out of place. I checked the whole house – not so much as a broken glass. No television or radio had been left on either, let alone at such a volume – well, none but the one we had been watching, and the weather channel had certainly not produced the sound. And Jetta said that all of the windows and doors were still locked from the inside."

"Mr. Blackburne," Dean began.

"Call me Rex, please."

"OK, Rex. We know that you inherited this house and I hate to ask this, but has anyone ever… was there ever any acciden-"

"Are you trying to ask if anyone had been hurt or died here? Or if anyone has been killed in the house?" At the regretful looks he got from both boys, Rex grimaced. "I appreciate the concern, really, but Dom asked me that already, though not as gently. No, to my knowledge nothing awful has ever happened here. My uncle died years ago in a car accident in Michigan and my aunt spent the last two years in a retirement community. When she passed on, it was quietly and peacefully in her sleep. And, having grown up watching movies like Poltergeist, I checked into the history of the house and the land – no relocated or hidden graveyards, no spilled blood, no nothing. I, in all my non-preternatural thoughts and learning, have run out of ideas."

(5)

"Wow, this is an awful lot of information. It's nice having someone else do all the research for a change," Sam said snidely when Dean re-entered the bedroom they were given for the duration of the hunt. After Rex had 'run out of ideas', he quickly pointed out different rooms, along with random facts about each, as they all went to the staircase. The second story of the estate mostly contained bedrooms. There was a bathroom and half-bath on the main floor but a few of the bedrooms, including the one given to Dean and Sam, had an en suite bathroom. Rex was able to vaguely point out the door to the cellar and the one to the attic before rushing off to answer his ringing telephone.

"You do _most_ of the research," Dean said, dropping Sam's duffle bag where he stood inside the doorway and then moved over with his own bag and the weapons and equipment bag to place them nicely on top of the chest of drawers. "I do my part, too. And, I doubt he got all of the information we'll need."

"I don't know about that," Sam told him, spreading out the different packets of papers Rex had given them to look at them all at once. Then, squinting in the dimming light, reached behind himself to turn on the lamp.

"I do. You heard him. Rex said it himself. He's not used to this sort of thing happening and is still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that non-human monsters exist. There are bound to be a few questions he didn't even think to ask, let alone answer."

Dean's statement was punctuated by a thud and a shout from outside. Both Winchesters ran to the wide window – luckily facing the back of the estate. On the ground towards the middle of the house was a large toolbox, open and having scattered its tools after its fall. Next to that was a rather jagged plank of wood that had been part of the scaffolding and a very frightened looking woman – the one who had been planting shrubs – still in the arms of the man in the flannel shirt after he obviously pulled her out of the way of the falling items. And, hanging from a piece of broken scaffolding was the man in the green work suit.

Sam threw the window open just in time for Dean to pass him by and climb out of it. Before he got more than halfway out, Sam grabbed his brother around the waist, halting his progress, so that Dean was hanging his upper body out of the window with Sam anchoring his legs securely inside.

"Hey, buddy, I can almost reach you," Dean said reaching out, stretching as much as he could. "Can you give me your hand?"

"I don't know," the man wheezed. He looked around as if trying to find another way out of his situation. However, the only other way down was to drop. As the main floor of the estate was twice the height of a normal story, it would have been more than a two story drop, which might not have been too bad, but the man happened to be dangling directly over the sun room. The sun room jutted out from the house and the excess of the room was made of glass – the walls and the ceiling/roof. The floor, of course, was solid concrete.

"Come on man, you can do it," Dean encouraged. "All you have to do is swing a little towards me and I'll catch you."

"Swing? I'll lose my grip!" the man cried out. But, he was already losing his grip. Holding onto the fractured edge of a wooden plank, not to mention the panic and sweat, had the man's fingers and hands bleeding and sliding closer to Dean, but also closer to the end of the plank.

Dean tried to reach out further, move more of his body out of the window, but Sam's hold kept him practically immobile. He was so close, fingertips away, but Sam knew that giving him even an inch more meant that he would not be able to pull his brother and the other man back inside. If Sam had time to think about it, he might have been a little disturbed to realize that he _knew_ the exact point in which he would no longer have the ability to retrieve his brother. However, he was a bit preoccupied with the current circumstances to actually think about things and not just act out of instinct and training.

Then, two things happened at once. As Dean continued with his steady stream of encouragement, the sky began to rumble, darkening quickly, surprising the man into almost losing his grip amid a chorus of gasps from below – the roofer and the man from the outer yard had now joined the man and woman already slowly gathering their tools and materials while watching the scene from below. At the same time, Sam felt someone else enter the Winchesters' bedroom. Turning his head while keeping his grip solidly on his brother, Sam found the other green work suited man – the one who had been working from inside the house. Unfortunately, the man seemed frozen in the doorway.

Lightning lit the blackened sky, followed closely by a boom of thunder. Rex was right - there was a bad storm coming and it was coming fast. And the people outside seemed to see its rapid arrival, too. They each began running around the yard, collecting items more quickly than before to keep them from getting wet and ruined, all the while looking back to check the man and Dean's progress.

Another flash filled the sky at the same time as the thunder howled. Seconds later, the clouds began sobbing big, fat, cold raindrop tears. The suspended man cried out once again and slipped a little more. Dean stretched out his fingers, hand, arm, torso as far as he could and pulled himself slightly further from Sam's grip. The people below disappeared, scattering in different directions. And Sam, having been looking back at the frozen man, happened to see the scripted name patch just above his heart.

The only warning Sam got was a frightened shout from the man outside, then his brother was nearly yanked from his grip as Dean called out a _gotcha!_ On the other hand Sam, who had been distracted and lost some of his hold on Dean, wasn't sure he could say the same.

"Oliver!" Sam yelled, hoping to thaw the man in the doorway. When Oliver looked over to Sam, he seemed confused that this stranger knew his name. Sam really didn't have time to explain as Dean slipped a little more out of the window.

"Oliver!" he commanded. "I don't know how long I can hold them, man. And I know I can't pull them back myself. I need your help!" he told the stunned man quickly.

Oliver muttered some expletive, realizing for the first time just exactly what was going on and crossed the room to the window and tried to figure out how best to help. Standing next to Sam for a moment, slightly flailing and failing to come up with a plan, he finally turned to the strained man.

"What can I do? What… what do you want me to do?"

"Well," Dean called out, "I don't know about you guys, but we're getting soaked out here." Another spark and crack overhead. "Look, grab my leg or something and help pull me back in a little so that one of you can reach my new pal here. How about you, dude? You ready for this flying trapeze show to be over?"

"Oliver," the man yelled, "just do whatever they tell you to!"

Quickly readjusting his grip, making sure Dean was not going to slip, Sam edged to one side of the window. Oliver, still unsure about what to actually do, grabbed at Dean's legs as he was told to do and began to pull with all his might. Sam did the same.

On the outside of the window, Dean could feel every little bit and edge of the window sill as it scraped across skin and bones. But, he tried to concentrate on holding onto the rain and blood wet hands on the man below him.

"OK guys, that's good, that's good," Dean said once his hips and abdomen were resting against the window ledge. Curling his body around the frame, he was sure he would not slip back out of the window. "Now grab him," he faced Sam and lowered his voice so as not to cause any more panic," before I lose my hold."

Sam and Oliver let go of Dean and reached around him to grab for the other man's hands. Once they had a hand each, Dean let go and shimmied out from between them and out of the way, collapsing on the floor and attempting to catch his breath.

"We've almost got you Hunter," Oliver called out with a shaky voice.

With the two young men pulling him up and in, Hunter nearly fell through the window. Once everyone was safe again, the three men collapsed to the ground, backs against the wall under the still-open window, breathing hard and getting rained on.

(6)

"I can't believe I froze up like that," Oliver mumbled as he took his work shirt off and put on the T-shirt that Rex had let him borrow.

There were a lot of muffled voices coming from the stairwell, but the only person that entered the room had been Rex. He had come dashing up the steps and into the room just after all of the excitement was over. Apologizing profusely about not being there to help – his wife and sister-in-law had almost made it up the path to the estate, but got stuck in the mud and he had run out to pull them out with his Hummer – and then went to get clean, dry clothes for the electricians to wear.

"Hey," Sam said gently, pulling a dry shirt from his duffle and grabbing Dean's bag to retrieve some clothing for his brother. "Things got a little crazy there. You can't blame yourself-"

"He could have been hurt. He could have been killed," Oliver lamented, sitting at the foot of Dean's bed and putting his head in his hands. "I saw it happening and I couldn't make myself move to help. If you guys hadn't been there-"

"But we were," Sam told him kindly but sternly. "There are a lot of _what if_s and _could have_s – but, aside from a few scrapes and bruises, everyone is fine." Oliver looked up at him with over-bright eyes and Sam finally got an intimation of what people griped about when he used his puppy eyes.

"He's my big brother," Oliver told him sadly. "Well, half-brother – growing up, I didn't know him at all. But, for the last ten years… our dad, his mom… especially Hunter… they've looked out for me. And, when he really needed it, I couldn't do the same for him."

"Everyone's fine," he repeated. Then, to try and lighten the mood, he picked up the shredded over shirt that Dean had been wearing. "Except for Dean's favorite red shirt."

Oliver smiled despite himself, and Sam gave himself a mental pat on the back.

(7)

"I can't believe he froze up like that," Hunter grumbled as Dean carefully picked the splinters out of his palms and fingers in the Winchesters' – no, Winters' – en suite bathroom.

When Rex had run up to their room after hearing about what had happened from the rest of the house guests, he could only give them more bad news:

_Jet and Cici almost got caught in that forest of a path. From what I could tell, the path is pretty well flooded with water and debris, and the girls said that the bridge washed out not minutes after they crossed it. I guess we are going to have more guests than we thought. But, we have the room – plenty of room – and we now have food… hopefully everything will be, er, sorted out quickly. Once again, I am truly sorry…_

Then, he went to get some dry clothing for Oliver and Hunter to wear, knowing that Dean and Sam had packed clothes of their own. After that, while Jetta Blackburne and Cierra Reed went to get more guest rooms prepared, Rex went back downstairs to tell half a dozen people that they could not leave the estate for an indefinite length of time.

"Hey," Dean admonished lightly, "give the kid a break. His brother almost fell to his death right in front of him."

"Yeah and- Wait, what?" Hunter nearly whispered, then hissed when the antibiotic hit his ripped skin.

"Sorry," Dean told him, wincing in sympathy.

"How did you know Oliver was my brother?"

"Well, even if your truck didn't say _Meriol Brothers_ on it," Dean smiled, "let's just say that a big brother knows how to spot one of his own."

"You and…"

"Sam."

"You're brothers," Hunter said, didn't ask, understanding. "And you work together. I don't know how you – ow!"

"Sorry. Don't know how we haven't killed ourselves or each other yet?" Hunter smirked and nodded. "I guess because, when it comes down to it, there's no one I would rather work with and no one I trust more than Sam. You know?"

"Well," Hunter hedged and gave a great big sigh. "We've only really been brothers for a decade or so. We have the same dad, but different moms," he explained at Dean's questioning look. "Long story short, about ten years ago, I became a big brother in an instant – to a guy not a year younger than me.

"We had both grown up as only children, so suddenly having a live-in friend was cool. Only lately…"

"Lately, what?" Dean asked as he wrapped the man's hands with clean bandages to prevent infection.

"What?" Hunter blinked, realizing he had gone off into his own mind for a bit. "Oh, nothing. Long day… death-defying rescues and all that… I guess I am just ready to get some rest and not think for a while." Then, under his breath, "be _alone_ for a while."

"I hear that," Dean agreed as if he didn't hear the last bit – the part he was not meant to hear. Though he really didn't agree at all. There was something more going on with these two but now was not the time to push. Being in the right place at the right time to catch someone before falling to his possible death only gave so much leeway for questioning. Pushing too much now would only guarantee he wouldn't get answers. "I, for one, could use a nice hot shower and a nice long nap."

"Yeah," Hunter said absently, then looked at the younger man who had just saved his life. The kid looked tired and worn, and on top of that, in need of some tending to himself. He had gotten rid of his over shirt, a red long-sleeved button-down, before entering the bathroom to perform some much needed and appreciated first aid. But, he was still soaked to the bone, making it hard to tell if the jagged holes in his black T-shirt were surrounded by rain alone, or something more.

"Yeah," Hunter said again. "I guess we should let the two of you sort yourselves out and go and find Rex. Apparently, we've all just become house guests."

(8)

"How're your arms, Sammy?" Dean asked once the two were alone in the room again. After Hunter thanked the two men again, he walked out of the room without so much as a glance in his younger brother's direction. Oliver stood dejectedly from the bed, gave them both a much quieter thanks, and walked out with his head hanging in shame, closing the door behind him.

"A little sore," Sam admitted. "Should I thank the extra cheeseburgers you've been putting away lately for that, or should I ask Hunter to skip the next few rounds of dessert?"

Dean smirked at his little brother, impressed by the sarcasm and quick wit. Rolling his own aching shoulders before attempting to rid himself of his wet clothing, he answered, "I think we're probably equally to blame."

Sam laughed, glad that their previous arguments and attitudes had dissolved. Nothing like saving someone from falling through a glass roof to put things into perspective. While he could blame his brother's earlier edginess on lack of sleep and, well, Dean just being Dean, he wasn't sure about his own. He was not usually so quick-tempered. A life-time of living and working elbow to elbow with his brother would beat a certain amount of fortitude into the most impatient of people. But, for some reason, he found himself at a breaking point – or rather, an outburst point – on a few different occasions this morning and he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe he was tired, too?

"Seriously though," Sam said, watching the way his brother moved stiffly and stifled any hint of a groan, "are _you_ OK? Now that the adrenalin has worn off, are there any dislocations or torn muscles I should worry about?"

"No permanent damage. I'm sure I'll be a little sore, too. But it's nothing a couple ibuprofen and a hot shower won't help."

Both brothers had promised the other that they would be more honest about their injuries and illnesses. They had both stuck to the deal so far, but Sam knew Dean wasn't volunteering anything. His first instinct was to get angry again, but he caught himself before accusing Dean of withholding information.

"What about stitches?" Before Dean could argue, Sam held up the red shirt. "And before you gloss over anything, remember, I've seen the rips in this thing."

Sam felt pretty happy with himself that he had not argued or attacked his brother, however, he saw in an instant that Dean was anything but appreciative.

"No, _Sam_, I don't need stitches," Dean huffed as he took his T-shirt off. "Nothing deep enough for that." It was true. While Dean's midsection was already a mass of bruises with torn skin and blood in various places, there were none that would require anything more than simple first aid and time to heal. "You know, I haven't forgotten the deal either. Why don't you try and trust that I know what I'm talking about, instead of just assuming that I'm going to lie to you."

Dean turned around and walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Before Sam could say another word, he heard the shower turn on. In retrospect, maybe he hadn't taken all of the sting or accusation out of his question.

(9)

"Excuse me, Sam?" Rex said, knocking lightly on the partially closed door of Sam and Dean's bedroom.

"Rex, hey, what's going on?" Sam asked. He walked towards the door to meet the other man when it became clear that Rex was not planning on entering, likely hearing the shower and trying to give the brothers some privacy. "How is everyone taking the news?"

"Not too terribly," Rex told him with a small, slightly nervous looking smile. "Some of the others were already set to stay here with us. And, a couple were planning to stay at a hotel in town. But, some of the others were a little less than thrilled with the idea. Of course, I think they understand… what with the circumstances and all…" Lightning lit the dim room and thunder rocked the house, causing both men to look towards the bedroom window.

"Anyway," Rex shiver-shrugged and turned back to face Sam. "I just wanted to invite you and Dean to dinner. I'd like to make some introductions, as we're all going to be living together for a few days."

"That's probably a good idea," Sam replied. "It will be beneficial to know who else is in the house and who to look out for while Dean and I try and find your _other_ guest."

"Oh my," Rex paled. "In all the excitement I had very nearly forgotten about that. What should we tell the others?"

"Well, in my experience, telling everyone up front is a bad idea. Best not to panic anyone without need. I'd say we should keep the investigation under wraps for as long as we can. We don't want anyone to get hurt and we will explain things if necessary, but I'd rather allow the others to remain happily unaware if we can."

"Yes, yes, you're right. All right – that's settled then. I will follow your lead and help in any way I can, of course. And, I'll make sure Jet and Cici know the plan as well." He started to leave the doorway, then turned back. "Oh, and Sam? Dinner will be served at 6:00."

(10)

The hot shower had done its job – Dean felt more relaxed, his muscles were soothed as much as could be expected, and the chills he had been feeling due to the rain had been extinguished. Not to mention, his temper had cooled immensely. He turned the still steaming water off before his skin could wrinkle further. Huffing out a breath, he opened the tempered glass shower door and blindly reached for the towel off the rack next to the shower stall.

Yes, it had bothered him – Sam's attitude towards the imagined infringement of their deal. But, even Dean could understand his little brother's skepticism. How many times had Dean disregarded his own health to fix up Dad or Sammy first? It was just natural to him to ignore his own injuries in exchange for making sure his family was still in tact. He couldn't exactly blame Sam for thinking he had done it again – they both knew that he did it without even realizing anymore.

It was painfully obvious that the two of them were running on empty. Sam's strange attitude in the car and Dean's just now in the room… they were too low on rations, rest, and recuperation. They both needed a break, and without thinking, Dean jinxed himself by hoping that this case would be straightforward and unproblematic.

Taking another deep, fog-filled breath, Dean stepped out of the shower and continued toweling off. He was afraid to move too much though, as he could barely see for all the steam the shower had produced in the small bathroom. Finding the shape he knew to be the sink underneath the haze-obscured mirror, he turned on the tap water so that he could splash the cold water on his face, hoping to wake himself up a little and clear his vision.

He turned off the water, patted his face dry, and then lifted the towel to wipe the mirror. Only, the mirror was not completely sheathed in condensation now. Now, there were words finger-painted onto the surface.

_As rain falls down from the grey-blue sky_

_little brother is going to die_

(11)

Sam had been studying the information on the house Rex had provided for them as his brother showered. With all of the workers now trapped at the estate, it was in everyone's best interest to get to the bottom of this haunting – and the quicker, the better. However, as Rex told them before, the history of the house was spotless.

He waited as patiently as possible for Dean to finish in the bathroom and tried to prepare his apologies for the day's events. He was half listening as he read – something he had long ago learned to do – to his brother's movements. He heard the shower start up, later turn off, Dean moving around in the bathroom, and the faucet turning on. Then, not five seconds after the faucet turned off again-

"Sam!"

Sam was out of his chair in a flash, reaching out for the bathroom door just as Dean was opening it. Sam quickly examined his brother – bruises, no more blood, still in just a towel around his waist, steam pouring from the bathroom…

"What is it?" Sam asked. He couldn't see any sort of problem, well, anything worse than what Dean had entered the bathroom with. Unless his brother had actually used up all of the hot water. "What's the matter?"

"This," Dean said, stepping back into the bathroom and pointing to the vanity over the sink.

Sam looked at the mirror and saw that there were words drawn onto the glass, but could only make out a few before the mirror cleared and they disappeared. What he could make out of the jumble – _rain_ and _sky_ and _brother_ – didn't seem that alarming to him.

Seeing the confused look on his brother's face, Dean looked back at the mirror. It was completely clear, as if the steam from his shower had never existed. He leaned closer, trying to see if the message had somehow stuck to the glass. However, it was the cleanest mirror he had even seen, looking recently wiped free of all dust and deposit.

"I didn't see it all, Dean," Sam told him, in a gentle but unpitying voice. "What did it say?"

"It said you were going to die, Sammy. It said you're going to die."

(12)

Needless to say, the 'Winters' brothers were no less jittery than the rest of the guests that sat around the dinner table that evening. Dean because of the mysterious message threatening his brother's life, and Sam because of the way said-message had spooked his brother. Not to say that menacing notes left by seemingly no one were not spooky. But in their line of work, in their lives, they had seen worse things than an eerie couplet left on a mirror. Much worse.

Looking around the dining room, Sam couldn't help but marvel at the number of people that easily fit around the long table. And there were a lot of people – reminding the brothers just how different their life was from the Blackburnes'. The boys were counting themselves lucky to be staying in a room larger and nicer than their average motel lodgings. The Blackburnes, on the other hand, had plenty of room for everyone to comfortably dine and to reside in their home. In all, the boys counted themselves numbers fourteen and fifteen at dinner.

Sam had been to a couple of 'dinner parties' during his short-lived Stanford days. He and Jess hosted one and attended a few other dinners at friends' places. Basically, it was four couples playing dress up, shoving mismatched chairs around a too-small table set up to be formal. They used their best faux-china dishes and drank boxed wine from plastic stemware, pretending they were actually professional lawyers and such, out of school and in the real world. It didn't seem too different to Sam from the way his father and brother played at being professionals while hunting.

But this _was_ different. This wasn't a few friends pretending to be upscale and elegant. This was a couple of upscale, elegant people making the best of the situation that they were thrown into. At one end of the long dinner table sat Rex Blackburne, still dressed casually enough, now in black slacks and a rich blue button-down shirt with a black blazer. It was dressed up for the Winchesters' standards, but obviously not for Rex.

At the other end of the table sat two women who looked remarkably alike. They both had long, black hair and deep brown eyes. They were both dressed down in the same fashion that Rex was – one in a tailored black suit, the other in a floral sundress – the sort that was expensively made to look inexpensive. The one in the suit had straight hair with straight cut bangs. The one in the dress had flowing waves made up to look as if she didn't do much with her hair, time well-spent to look at if she spent no time on her appearance at all – just naturally gorgeous.

Between the ends of the long, rectangular table were a dozen people, including the Winchesters – _Winters_. Sam and Dean sat on opposite sides near the center of the table. On one side of each of them sat an unfamiliar woman, and next to them sat Oliver and Hunter, then Rex. At Dean's other side sat a woman (the one who was almost struck by Hunter's toolbox), an unfamiliar man, and the woman who had been on the roof. Next to Sam were three men – first the one who had been further out in the yard, then another unfamiliar man, and finally the man who had pulled the gardener-woman to safety.

Food had already been placed along the center of the table and served, in what Sam had thought of as 'Thanksgiving style', with the meat and side dishes set out to be passed around to each person in turn. There was sliced turkey and ham, along with mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, honey-glazed carrots, and buttered corn. There were also white, wheat, and sourdough rolls. And, on a sideboard along the wall were two pies – one apple and one cherry – cooling for dessert.

The rain continued to spill down from the sky, only now without the accompaniment of thunder or lightning. The soft sounds of water to windows creating a lulling effect that, along with the fire in the hearth, the comfort foods, and the wine flowing generously, had those gathered around looking soft and sleepy.

Rex had seated each person as they came into the dining room and quickly introduced everyone around. But, it wasn't until after dinner and dessert, when everyone was ushered into a living room / lounge area (across the foyer from the room in which Dean and Sam had spoken to Rex earlier) that the guests really had the opportunity to chat. Rex, Jetta, and Cierra excused themselves to go to the kitchen for, what one of the sisters called, digestifs.

Sam was about to walk over to his brother to discuss some sort of game plan for the investigation they needed to get started on, when the unfamiliar woman who sat next to Dean at dinner approached and seemed to corner him. Sam looked on, slightly amused by the aggressive nature of the woman, until someone came over and stood beside him. He turned to see an attractive redhead with big brown eyes at his side, watching the woman and his brother with her arms crossed.

"I just want to appologize now for anything she says or does," the woman who sat next to Sam at dinner said.

Sam tried to remember her name. She and the woman talking to his brother were interior designers who had also been set to stay at the estate. They knew each other, came together, and Sam remembered they had the same last name, though they didn't look like sisters to Sam. Yet, most people didn't realize that he and Dean were brothers until they told them.

What was her name? The other woman's name was Lyla, and there was an Amber and a Celeste at dinner as well. Why couldn't he remember hers? He was usually so good at remembering full names and intricate details – it came in handy with the job of interviewing all the people the brothers' dealt with during hunts. Feeling himself blush, he responded by using her last name – of course he could remember that.

"And why would you have to do that, Ms. Gridelin?" Why did he remember that and not her first name?

"It's Miss," she laughed, not fooled one bit, and yet she didn't seem upset by his poor memory. "And you can call me Ionia." She smiled a warm, beautiful smile. "And don't worry. Most people don't remember it."

"I'm so sorry," Sam said, returning her smile. He held his hand out, feeling a little silly for doing so as they had just had dinner side by side. "I'm Sam."

"Hello Sa-"

She was interupted by the sound flirtatious laughter. Both Sam and Ionia turned to see Lyla flip her hair over her shoulder and practically pose before Dean.

"Like I said, I appologize," she said with disdain.

"Oh, I don't know," Sam turned back to her. "Dean doesn't seem to mind that much." But, to Sam's Dean-trained eye, he could see that his brother was actually not enjoying the attention all that much. The smile was in place, but it held none of its usual charm or self-confidence. But, what were brothers for, if not to stand by and watch while their siblings were uncomfortable.

"Well," Ionia grinned, obviously seeing exactly what Sam was, "I do have to admit that I feel a little responsible. After all, I made the mistake of remarking that I thought he was cute." She smiled when Sam gave her a questioning look. "Earlier, I saw the two of you arrive and go around to talk to Rex. I didn't notice that Lyla had walked into the room, or that I made the comment aloud… well, until she accused me of drooling."

"I see," Sam said, for lack of anything more intelligent to say.

"Hey, be thankful that you had your back to the house," Ionia told him with a smirk. "Or that could have been you over there."

It took a moment for Sam to catch her meaning, but when his did his blush returned full force. Ionia gave a little laugh when, what people had called his 'bashful dimples', made their appearance.

"But seriously," she told him, smile slipping fast from her face, "a word of warning: Lyla is a cougar of the worst kind."

"Why would you say that? What's 'the worst kind'?"

"The married kind," Ionia stated bluntly. "And, as much as I would like my brother to pull his head out of his ass and see her for what she truly is, I also don't want to see him hurt."

Sam understood that. And, he now understood the women's relationship. They weren't sisters, they were sisters-in-law, and apparently not very close ones. Though they worked together. Had to be difficult.

Ionia stood staring at Sam, sizing him up, waiting for a response to her statement – waiting to see how he would respond and watching to see if his reactions would be honest.

"My brother doesn't go for married women," Sam defended.

"Good," Ionia gave him a small, understanding smile. She turned away, having said her piece, but then turned back. "By the way, I don't know how much of a drinker your brother is, but I thought you might like to know that Lyla made sure his glass was always filled."

(13)

Damn, he was tired. Dinner had been wonderful and he felt pleasantly full; strangely, he didn't feel stuffed to the chin as he normally did when the food was good and plentiful. And, there was pie. Dean had had day-old pie, nearly fresh-baked pie, and rewarmed pie, but never straight from the oven pie. It was all he could do not to groan sinfully with each bite.

He would have preferred a beer to the wine and water served with dinner. Even a soda would have been more his style. But, he had to admit that the cabernet savi-something had been quite good. Though, it must have gone straight to his head because he was feeling fuzzy-brained and wobbly. Even though he didn't even finish a whole glass. Apparently, he was a wine lightweight. Hopefully, a 'digestif' is a fancy, rich-people word for coffee.

He also would have preferred the red haired Gridelin to approach him, rather than the woman who sat next to him at dinner. Yes, this woman was quite attractive and damn sexy, but she was also very married. There was no missing that giant rock on her finger. If he was the cad most people mistook him for, he could have easily seduced Lyla Gridelin (or allowed himself to be seduced, as she seemed intent on doing) and stolen that diamond, paying his and Sammy's way halfway across the country. Damn his morals.

He was thankful when Sam came to his rescue, introducing himself to the brash woman and standing his ground next to Dean. The look on Lyla's face screamed "three's a crowd" at Sam, but the kid smiled innocently and she finally left the two of them alone.

"Thank you," Dean said whole-heartedly.

Before Sam was able to reply, Rex and Jetta returned with a tray of glasses and ornate decanters of caramel-colored liquids. The brothers could hear them offering brandy, sherry, and port to Robin and Celeste – or Rob and Les – the carpenter and roofer. The married couple each took a glass from Jetta's tray and Rex poured their drinks from different bottles.

Sam looked at his brother who either mumbled something that sounded very much like 'need coffee' or his brain was so loud thinking it that Sam able to hear the thought. Dean looked to be fading fast, and if Ionia was right – and how did neither Sam nor Dean notice? – then he had had a pretty good amount of wine.

"Hey," Sam nudged him to get his attention. "Why don't you excuse yourself and go get a couple of hours sleep? I really think we need to look around after everyone else turns in."

"Yeah, OK," Dean nodded. It was a true testament to how tired he really was – taking an order (no, suggestion) from Sam without a fight, let alone, agreeing to it. "We need to know what we're dealing with, and the sooner the better." Both of them knew Dean was thinking of all the innocent people – well, innocent people plus one cougar – that were trapped within the house.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I'll be up in a bit and set an alarm. Try and get some rest, OK?"

"Will do," Dean mumbled. "Oh, and Sam? Be careful. Someone or some _thing_ has already taken notice of you."


	2. Part 2

this took a little longer to finish than I had planned - and it is only half the length of the first part... sorry about that or you're welcome... as the case may be :)

* * *

**A Game I Didn't Want To Play**

_part 2_

(1)

Sam watched as his brother made his way across the room to Rex and Jetta. He was moving slowly, not quite steady on his feet and Sam wondered if it was due to lack of sleep or the abundance of wine that Dean had unknowingly imbibed. Most likely a combination of the two. Hoping that a few hours of sleep would revive him, Sam smiled as Dean turned in the doorway to give his little brother one more appraising look before heading in the direction of the stairway.

"Sam," Rex, suddenly in front of him, said, "would you like an after-dinner drink?"

"We have brandy, port, and sherry," Jetta told him and Sam caught the hint of an accent that he couldn't place. Choosing a brandy, mainly to have something to do with his hands, Sam thanked them as they walked on to the next guest.

The hunter surveyed the room. It had been some time since he had had to mingle with a room full of unknown – or barely known – people by himself. Usually, he had Dean to help take up the slack of waning conversation or to save him when his target became belligerent or aggressive. Even when playing their own twisted Winchester version of good cop/bad cop, like with officer Gunderson in Illinois, he knew Dean was there (somewhere nearby) and had his back.

But, he could do this on his own. In fact, Sam _had_ done this before – back at the beginning of his Stanford days, there were mixers and socials and other sorts of parties designed to get the in-coming freshman to find friends and allies. Yes, it had been a number of years – seven to be exact – but he felt that he still had the ability start up random conversations about everything and nothing all at once.

Seven years? Wow. Sam frowned, feeling, for the first time in his young life, a little bit old.

(2)

As he trudged up the staircase, Dean couldn't help but feel guilty. He was abandoning his little brother. He was leaving the kid alone with a bunch of people they didn't know (therefore, Dean didn't trust them one iota) and an as-yet unidentified supernatural being that had already warned Dean about Sam's impending doom.

How could he do that? How could he desert Sam like that?

And yet, Dean was so tired. More so than he had even realized. More so than he had ever thought possible.

But this was Sam – and he had a responsibility, an obligation, a duty…

But he was so close to falling asleep on his feet…

But Sam would be down there counting on him. Dad would have been counting on him. That had always been Winchester law number one: watch out for Sammy…

But Sam was a big boy now. He could take care of himself now, right? At least for a couple of hours… and he'd done so before at school… for years…

But…

"Is this some new dance that I don't know about?" a voice with a slightly unusual intonation asked from the top of the staircase. It was then that Dean realized he had been walking up and down the same two stairs for, most likely, the last ten minutes. "The Winchester two-step, perhaps?"

Dean was about to answer – not that he knew how or with what words – when he realized that the woman had used his real last name. He looked to the landing at the top of the stairway and found Cierra Reed standing there, contemplating him with an amused grin on her face.

"I'm sorry," she said in an exaggerated whisper, " should I not have used that name?" She looked around, all for show. "Only, there's no one else here, so I thought it might be OK."

Dean climbed the remaining few steps to face the woman standing at the landing.

"So," he said casually, "you're Mrs. Dominic Reed, huh? You know, I never thought Dom-"

"Would get married?" she finished for him, though there was a perceptive quality to her words that made the question seem a mere formality. "You're not the first to be surprised. I doubt you'll be the last. But, as you can see…" she allowed the statement to drift away, letting the sparkling diamonds and rubies on her left hand speak for themselves.

"Wow," Dean said, gazing at the ring. It was almost hypnotic, the sparkling gems and glittering gold band, catching the light this way and that. "I didn't know Dom had such good taste." Then, looking up and catching the married woman's tilted grin, he added, "in jewelry, I mean."

"He doesn't," Cierra told him, leaning in close as if bestowing some grand secret. "But, I've found that most people – men especially – can be nudged into making proper decisions. It just takes the right person to guide their actions."

"Um…"

"You know Dean, you do look awfully sleepy. Why don't you go on to bed now?"

Dean nodded through a yawn he couldn't stifle. He passed Cierra with a small smile and dip of his head in lieu of a 'good night' and noticed the self-satisfied smirk on the woman's face. He thought for a moment about turning around and telling her that her _suggestion_ had no bearing on his decision to go to his room, but he decided to let it go. He was just too tired to get into another discussion.

(3)

It took a couple of hours for the guests to begin filtering out of the lounge. _About time_, Sam thought. He was really getting tired and wanted to try and get a little rest himself before he and Dean made a late night sweep of the estate, but he felt that one of the hunters should remain alert and with the other guests. And, he knew his brother needed sleep more than Sam did. Didn't mean that he wasn't on his last leg and about to keel over himself, though.

All in all, Sam felt that the evening had been productive. Only, not exactly productive in terms of the hunt. But, he did find out some interesting details about their fellow houseguests.

For instance, though Lyla Gridelin seemed to be interested mostly in Dean, she was quite prepared to flirt with other men – much to the displeasure and disgust of her sister-in-law Ionia. And, one of the plumbers, a man named Ignatius Sorrel – _but you can call me Iggy_ – preferred to present his come-ons to married women, making his way from Jetta Blackburne to Celeste Brooks and finally to Lyla Gridelin. Lyla and Iggy left the lounge at the same time, leaving Ionia and Iggy's partner Carmine Hollis to cringe and commiserate with one another.

Sam also noticed that the tension had remained high between the Meriol brothers, resulting in Hunter turning his back on his younger brother and chatting up the gardener, Amber Jessamy, and Oliver retiring shortly after Dean had. The frustration steadily increased between Celeste Brooks and her husband Rob in relation to the amount of alcohol they both drank, resulting in raised voices and flailing limbs. And, Sam wondered if perhaps the landscaper, Sonny Meline, had feelings for Amber, as he stood alone in the corner watching – glaring – as the perky young blond laughed with the electrician.

Sam thought about going straight up to tell Dean all he had learned, but decided to keep it to himself for the time being. His big brother already thought he was exceedingly prone to becoming a soap opera addict. No need to give him more fuel for the fire.

(4)

As the last few guests ascended the stairway, Sam hung back to have a word with Rex and Jetta, who were gathering glasses and turning out lights. Other than the stories Rex had told them earlier and the accident with the scaffolding – which could have been just that, an accident – Sam felt the estate seemed awfully clean and hoped to possibly pin down a specific location of activity.

"I don't know what to tell you Sam," Rex said as, one by one, the rooms on the main floor went dark. "I'm not going to lie to you though. As much as I want this situation taken care of quickly and easily, I can't say that I am unhappy about the lack of unusual happenings this evening. Especially under the circumstances."

Sam agreed whole-heartedly, though he couldn't help but worry that the longer the silence stretched on, the stronger the eventual disturbance would be.

Sam and Rex parted ways as Rex headed towards the kitchen to help Jetta finish with the dishes and Sam began climbing the stairs to return to his and Dean's bedroom. However, he doubled back down once Rex was out of sight, having noticed a light on in one of the rooms opposite the dining room – a light that had not been on when he had passed by before.

He quickly and quietly crept towards the room in question as he heard Rex and Jetta approaching, discussing the possibility of a power outage and plans to search for flashlights and candles in the morning if the storm continued its onslaught. From behind the almost-closed door, Sam heard the couple climb the stairs and then a distant shutting of a door before all became still once more.

Turning around, Sam found himself in a room that had probably once been a home library, judging by the walls full of built-in shelves. However, the room had been converted to a home theater complete with the largest television Sam had ever seen sitting in a corner with a clear plastic tarp covering it. From under the tarp, he could see the TV had been turned on and was currently showing nothing but static.

Sam looked around on the sectional sofa surrounding the front of the TV and on the end tables on either side of the sofa for a remote control to turn the set off. Nothing. Not even on top of the television itself or the large speakers on either side of it. Nor could Sam see any buttons on the set.

Deciding to simply close the door to the room so that the light would not show in the hallway, Sam turned around to leave the room. _The sound is turned down anyway_, he thought. _It won't bother anyone_.

But, as he walked away from the television set, he began to hear a muffled voice coming from it. It sounded as if the station was not coming in clearly and the voice was almost drowned out by the interfering _shhh_ of white noise. Sam would have completely ignored the muted sound except-

_Dean?_

Sam paused at the door and turned back to look at the television again. He willed the set to both remain quiet and to speak up again.

_Dean? Dean, wake up._

Feeling all kinds of trepidation, Sam leapt over the sofa and knelt in front of the set, straining to hear more.

_Please! Wake up Dean! Don't do this!_

The faraway voice pleaded. Sam knew that he needed to get out of there, to find his brother, to arm himself, anything other than sitting mesmerized in front of the screen. But, as he stared at the black and white haze, he swore that the bits of snow were coming together to form shapes. Shapes came together to create a shadowy human-looking figure, running then stopping in front of something and leaning over to shake – maybe a person in a bed…

_Dean please! You can't do this! Not now! Wake up! Please just wake up!_

The voice – Sam now recognized it as his own – begged, sobbing.

Not even remembering the path that lead him there, Sam burst into the bedroom that he and his brother were sharing and nearly jumped on Dean's bed in his haste to make sure his big brother was all right.

(5)

"Dean," Sam said as he ran into the room and plowed into the bed. He had intended to whisper, but wanted to scream. What came out was a choked version of his brother's name that he barely identified as coming from his own mouth. Didn't recognize it, but felt it as he pushed the sound out of his throat.

He nearly knocked the mattress off the box springs and frame of the bed; at the same time, he grabbed at the blankets and pillows and threw them to the floor. What Sam found under all the fluff was an empty bed.

(6)

After leaving Cierra Reed to her erroneous thoughts of having influenced him into going to bed, Dean went into the bedroom he was sharing with Sam and closed the door behind him. They had both gotten themselves set up in their temporary quarters before dinner, so there was no need to turn on a light for fear of tripping over or running into anything. All Dean managed to do was slip out of his boots before falling onto his bed and dozing instantly.

However, his much-needed sleep was anything but peaceful. He dreamt of walking along a darkened hallway until there was suddenly a wall in front of him. Doubling back, he turned a corner or two and was once again blocked by a wall. Turning around and taking a different path worked for a few more twists and turns until he faced another wall. Only this time, the wall included a window. But, the window was not looking outside – it faced one of the hallways that he had just been in – a hallway that was no longer empty.

On the other side of the window stood Sam, looking around, trying to figure out where to go next. Dean tried to open the window but there was no latch. He knocked on the glass to get Sam's attention, but apparently his brother could not hear or see him.

Dean tried to find his way back to that corridor, but the blocking walls seemed to have moved. Every time he thought he would catch up with his brother, Dean found himself in front of another window with Sam on the other side. He yelled and yelled for his little brother, but never heard any sort of response.

Dean awoke tangled in the bedspread that he hadn't even burrowed under before falling asleep.

Sorting himself out and straitening the sheets and blankets, Dean went to sleep again. This time, the maze in his dream was out doors. The walls were made of hedges and trees. And, unlike before, he could hear Sam moving around and calling his name but couldn't see him. He shouted out answers to Sam's calls but his little brother didn't seem to be able to hear him the way he could hear Sam. And each of Sam's yells got more and more frantic in his search.

Again, Dean woke up caught in the restraining grip of his blankets. And, tired though he may have still been, he was no longer sleepy. All he wanted now was to get up and get to work. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

(7)

Dean was in the process of splashing some water on his face to try and help rouse himself a little more when he heard the bedroom door open. He dried his hands and turned around to see a tall blur rush into the dark room.

"Dean," Sam said, voice hitched and breath panting.

Dean stepped out of the bathroom to find Sam ripping the blankets from his bed.

"Sam?" Dean said, turning on a table lamp in the corner of the room. "What's the matter?"

Sam let out a yelp as he jumped back from the bed and proceeded to trip over Dean's discarded boots. He fell hard on his back side, smacking his left elbow on the nightstand on his way down.

Dean quickly walked over to help his little brother stand up again. Sam accepted the outstretched hand but winced at the pull on his elbow.

"You OK?" Dean asked him.

"Yeah, just hit that spot, you know?" Sam said, rubbing his elbow as tingles and twinges of pain worked their way down to his fingertips.

"Good, but I'm not just talking about your arm. What's going on? Why are you attacking my bed?"

Remembering the earlier scare, Sam stood up once more and dashed to the equipment bag. Digging inside to find the EMF meter, he began explaining what he had heard from the television set to Dean. He started for the bedroom door once more and Dean had to move quickly to grab some other essentials – namely a flashlight and a rifle filled with rock salt – and follow his brother without stopping to grab his shoes on the way out.

Sam had waited until they were at the bottom of the steps to turn on the EMF meter, hoping to avoid drawing any attention to their snooping around. Dean followed suit with the flashlight – especially wanting to avoid attention, as he was carrying a shotgun – and trailed Sam to the closed door of the room with the giant television. Sam didn't remember closing the door, but then again, he didn't remember moving around the sofa or climbing the stairs to the bedroom either.

Dean kept his eye on the EMF over – OK, _around_ – his brother's shoulder as they slowly made their way to the room. The readings were odd to say the least. They were not steady by any means, didn't rise or fall in a normal pattern, but were sporadic. The lights danced without rhythm, spiking randomly with no rhyme or reason.

Sam didn't seem to mind and kept his course steady to the closed door. When he got there, though, he paused and took a deep breath, psyching himself up to turn the knob. Any other time, Dean would have laughed at his little brother's behavior, kidded him from acting like a scared newbie hunter.

(8)

_Just open the door_, Sam told himself. In the middle of thinking good thoughts and telling himself that everything would be all right, Sam realized that he was acting childish. He had been on so many hunts before – in fact, he had lost count of the ones that had involved only spirits. Well, at least Dean wasn't laughing at him.

Sam opened the door, feeling, for the first time, vulnerable, what with leaving the bedroom armed only with a banged-up old walk-man turned EMF meter. And feeling, not anywhere close to the first time, relieved that his big brother was standing next to him. Not that he'd ever tell Dean that.

As the door swung open, the first thing Sam noticed was the lack of light in the room. Then, he noticed why. The television set was not turned on.

"Wait a minute," he thought out loud. "I didn't turn that off."

"Well," Dean tried for reasonable, "maybe Rex remembered it was on and…"

Sam simply turned and looked at his brother, saying without words how ridiculous he thought that theory was. No, there was something else going on. Sam just knew it. He didn't imagine it.

"Are you sure you didn't, you know, maybe, imagine…" Dean started to say carefully but let the thought drift off. "I mean, you've got to be pretty tired and-"

"And what Dean? I fell asleep standing up in the lounge with a bunch of other people around, talking and laughing. That I dreamt up the whole thing? Is that what you're going to ask me? Huh?"

Dean said nothing and moved away to look around the room. He didn't know how to explain the inconsistencies of Sam's story with what they were both seeing. There was the huge television and a sofa large enough for a dozen people, but beyond those details… The television was turned off and was uncovered with no clear tarp in sight. There were a number of remote controls sitting on top of the set, presumably for the TV, stereo, DVD player, and whatever other equipment the system was hooked up with. And, there was absolutely no reading on the EMF meter in Sam's hand.

"Hey," Dean said, looking over at his little bother's slumping shoulders. "Why don't you go up and get some sleep? I'm awake now. I'll look around a bit and wake you up in a few hours."

"No, no," Sam sighed, "I'm actually more awake now. I don't think I could shut my brain down enough to go to sleep right now anyway."

"OK," Dean knew exactly how Sam felt. There were plenty of times that one or the other (or both) of them couldn't stop thinking of a problem or occurrence, and then couldn't quiet the questions in their heads enough to fall asleep. Hazard of the job, he supposed.

"Well, why don't you go up and get yourself a little more armed. Unless you plan on throwing that meter at a spirit – well, I don't think it would make any difference to the spirit even if you did," Dean smiled when Sam grinned and shook his head, blushing slightly. "I'll head over to the kitchen are start brewing up some caffeine. We'll meet back there."

"Sounds good," Sam said, turning around and leaving the room once again.

Again, Dean followed, but then walked past the stairway towards the kitchen as his brother climbed the stairs.

(9)

Dean would have insisted they stick together, but would also have felt silly for it. Yes, the threat written out on the bathroom mirror was still bothering him, but Sam could be out of his sight for another five or ten minutes. And coffee really did sound appealing.

Setting his rifle and flashlight down on the island countertop, he flipped a switch on the wall and dim lights underneath the countertops lit up – illuminating the room enough to see, but not enough to disturb anyone who may be passing by the upper stairwell. The kitchen, like every other room in the house, was rather large. There were actually two sets of refrigerators and freezers, one set with glass doors and the other ones were solid. They looked pretty new and Dean couldn't figure out why the Blackburnes – two people – would need that much refrigeration space. And, the fridge and freezer with glass doors were neatly and completely filled.

Also, the center island housed a large, eight-burner stovetop. Just inside the doorway were two sizable ovens, one over top of the other. And, the sink had two deep outer basins and two smaller, more shallow inner basins. The kitchen looked ready made to feed an army or a diner full of patrons. Dean was sure that Rex had told them that his aunt had lived there alone for a number of years, since the passing of her husband, and he had presumed that they had no children of their own as Rex inherited the house. It seemed strange… but any stray thoughts Dean was having fled as he spied the coffee maker.

The machine stood regally in the corner on a countertop between the sink and an inside window that connected to the dining room on the other side. The coffee itself was a little more difficult, as the kitchen did not seem to contain any cabinets and any storage area appeared to house cooking and baking essentials – but not food.

He was about to go into the dining room, as he had seen china cabinets and hutches, along with other cabinetry in there. But, a chance look at the wall between the sink and the solid-door freezer showed an almost-hidden door. It would have been completely hidden had it not been open a sliver. But that sliver was enough.

The pantry was as well stocked as the rest of the place seemed to be. The shelves were fully lined with sundries, all the non-perishables that didn't need refrigeration or freezing. And right at Dean's eye level was a large tin of coffee.

Setting the machine to start brewing, Dean took a deep breath as if trying to inhale the caffeinated wafts coming from the blessedly fast machine. Maybe it had worked a little because he suddenly realized that Sammy was still absent and he couldn't hear any movement in the rest of the house.

Concentrating, listening hard, Dean picked up his shotgun and flashlight and left the room, heading for the stairs. But, before he got there, he thought he heard something in the room between the kitchen and the sun room. It was an unfamiliar tinkling sound – like glass wind chimes or plucked harp strings.

Moving slowly and silently, Dean entered the room, wishing that he had kept the EMF meter – not that it had done them any good so far. He studied the room, looking for anyone or anything that could have made the sound he heard. This room was the largest one yet. It was sparsely furnished, like the Blackburnes hadn't really gotten to it yet. There was a immense wet bar and some bar stools in one corner and a concert grand piano half-covered with a blanket and piano bench in the other. The rest of the room was rather bare, save for some moving boxes marked with their contents in big black letters.

The sound had been quiet enough that it couldn't have come from another part of the house. However, Dean saw nothing that could explain it. There were no windows open to cause a draft, and the only items that could have been affected by a gust of wind were the chandeliers – but they were designed to look like candles and had no bits of glass or beads dangling from them.

Dean was still contemplating the room when he heard soft footfalls behind him. Spinning around, he managed to aim the rifle directly at his brother's neck.

"Jeez Sam!" he said, swiftly pointing the gun barrel towards the floor.

"Sorry," Sam told him with a slight smile. "What are you doing in here any way?"

"Thought I heard something," Dean mumbled, turning around again to take in the room once more.

"What did you-" Sam began, cutting himself off quickly. "Dean look."

Sam pointed toward the piano. The blanket that had been motionless while Dean was alone in the room was now slowly sliding off the back of the piano. The hunters approached the instrument at the same slow speed. By the time the blanket had fallen completely off, flowing onto the floor, they were standing next to the shining black curved side of the piano.

"What is that?" Sam whispered, pointing to the part of the frame furthest from the keyboard.

They both knew what it looked like, what it was, but neither wanted to say. Dean moved in closer and felt Sam come up behind him, covering him. The older hunter opened the closure over the strings. Lying inside the instrument was the cute little gardener, Amber Jessamy, with a lock of golden waves poking out of the piano, having been trapped between the frame and the lid. Her eyes were wide open, but she was quite dead – the piano wire still wrapped around her neck had made sure of that.


	3. Part 3

Well, it has been two months since I last updated this thing. If you are happy about the new installment, you can thank Macs who sent me a message saying, "Just dropping a note to ask whether you're continuing with 'A Game I Didn't Want to Play'. It's been a while is all, and impatient little me wanted to know if the next part will turn up." I think we all know how disappointing it is to write something and get little to no feedback. I had shelved this story in discontent until that message. It really made my day!

And, don't worry - part 4 will not take nearly so long to post!

* * *

For those who would rather not go back and re-read the previous parts, here is the summary thus far:

The Winchester brothers are investigating the recently inherited haunted estate of a friend-of-a-friend (of-a-friend of-a-friend of-a-friend). They are posing as building inspectors, under the name Winters, as there are quite a few other workers in and around the estate. Things take an unexpected turn when one of the hired electricians nearly falls to his death, saved by the hunters. And then things get even worse when rain washes out the only road off of the estate grounds and apparently knocks out all phone and cell connections. There are fifteen people staying in the estate and one has already been found dead – how many people will be able to walk away unscathed?

**A Game I Didn't Want To Play**

_part 3_

(1)

Sam turned away from the open, accusing eyes of the dead girl. He had talked to her not two hours before – she had thanked him for being so brave and helping save _that electrician's_ life. She was sweet, if not a little naive. One thing he was certain of: Amber Jessamy did not deserve such a painful and frightening death caused by some vengeful spirit.

"Well, this is _not_ the work of some vengeful spirit," Dean said, causing Sam to spin back around and find his brother examining the girl's neck.

"You know Dean, I realize that we _pretend_ to be cops, federal agents, even doctors, but that doesn't mean we actually are."

"No," Dean said, stepping slightly to the left so that Sam could see, "but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. Take a look at this wire Sam."

Sam took a tentative step forward. It wasn't as if he had never seen a dead body, even such a recently dead body. He wasn't really scared or disgusted – well, beyond the loss of life – but not disgusted by the body itself. No, it was her eyes. They seemed to stare right at him, right through him.

Taking a deep breath, Sam forced his gaze to the girl's neck. It was a mess. It was obvious that the girl had struggled some. There were thin slices in the skin where the wire dug in and then was forced into a different position. But, Sam realized what had captured his brother's attention was-

"It looks like the wire was twisted to resemble a noose. That's weird." Sam was impressed. It was a good catch, however, it seemed to him to prove the spirit angle was more likely, rather than less and he started to say so.

"This was no spirit," Dean stated again, firmly, matter-of-factly, inciting Sam to try and respond, but Dean continued.

"I'll admit, it seems reasonable to think that some dude who offed himself or was hung for whatever reason would likely try and gank others in the same fashion. However, look closely at that wire," he paused until Sam did just that. "That wire has been held by human hands. There are bumps or indents or whatever you want to call them where somebody's gloved fingers held tight on that wire. The girl struggled against the attack and the wire slipped around on her neck. And," he said with final flourish, "that 'noose' was twisted _after_ the girl was already dead."

Sam was still looking intently at the wire, looking just as intently _not_ at the girl's face.

"Ghosts wouldn't leave bumps in the wire. They wouldn't have faltered during a struggle. And, they wouldn't wait until she was dead to make the wire look like a noose," Dean finished his sentence as he tucked the blanket that had covered the piano around the dead girl and carefully closed the lid without letting any of Amber's hair fall into view.

There wasn't anything they could do for the poor gardener right now. The rest of the household was presumably asleep. The Winchesters needed to check out the estate and make sure there were no other living human guests – no one in the house other than the people they had already been introduced to. Ghosts, poltergeists, revenants would have to wait for the moment.

"Oh, and Sam," Dean said as the brothers walked out of the room.

"Yeah."

"Don't second-guess my ability to do my job."

(2)

They searched the house as best they could, trying to make their way through the cluttered and unfamiliar home with as little noise and light as possible. After making their way through the whole of the main floor, they found nothing and no one. All of the doors and windows were still locked from the inside and no one had come up or down the stairs – Sam had found a small bell sitting on Rex's office desk and some twine around an unopened moving box, and rigged a simple alarm at the bottom step.

"You know," Sam said quietly once they were back in their room with the door closed and salted, "I don't know how I feel about our killer being human. I mean, it's not that finding a ghost would make our lives any easier, but being almost positive about the bad guy being a person just doesn't sit well with me. You know?"

"Yeah," Dean said absently as he wedged a chair underneath the door handle – there was a keyhole for a lock, but no key.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," Dean said, turning around to face Sam, "that something still isn't right here."

"Well, we did just decide there's a killer among us."

"I mean, other than that. That stuff Rex told us earlier... about their close encounters with the spooky kind? That all happened _before_ they hired anyone to work on the place-"

"No," Sam interrupted and stood from his bed to grab the files Rex had given them, "they didn't. Remember, Rex said that he would see someone out of the corner of his eye... his wife, too. He told us they shrugged it off as one of the workers around the house and property." Sam began flipping back and forth through pages of one of the files, apparently so engrossed that he forgot to continue with his train of thought.

"What are you looking for?" Dean asked a little impatiently, after waiting a second or two – _long enough_ – for Sam to keep talking. He really hated when his little brother geeked out with the research to the point of ignoring that he was still in the room.

"Oh," Sam said, slightly distracted, "I wanted to check out the dates that the workers started working. You know, who was here when. Maybe we can narrow down Amber's killer to a recent worker, since there was no evidence of violence before tonight."

"Yes, but there was evidence of _something_. Whether the spooky stuff was caused by something supernatural or by a worker – acting of his or her own accord or under the influence... man, this whole thing is giving me a headache!"

(3)

Sam had been able to persuade Dean into turning in for the rest of the night... well, the pre-dawn hours, anyway. Giving a pretty convincing yawn that ended up becoming real, Sam didn't even have to come up with a reason to get his brother to call it a night. A yawn or two and Dean's big brother mode kicked in. In fact, he was the one who _casually_ suggested getting some shut-eye so that they could start fresh in the morning.

The years of practice Dean had gotten sleeping when he could, where he could, at any time, whenever Dad told him to meant that he fell asleep pretty quickly. Well, the insufficient amount of sleep he had gotten as of late probably also helped.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn't quite so lucky. As he had told Dean earlier, he still was unable to shut his brain down enough to fall asleep. He just couldn't stop _thinking_. Part of him wanted to get up, read through Rex's files, make notes, power up his laptop – but he knew he couldn't. As quickly as Dean could fall asleep, he could just as quickly wake up again. Especially if his little brother was having trouble sleeping.

Too bad his big brother mode didn't have an off switch or sleep mode.

So, Sam laid still, eyes open, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it, and tried to imagine it was notebook paper and he could brainstorm and make notes on it. He had done that a few times – basically for the same reason – to allow Dean (and Dad) some sleep. Of course, usually he was laying on a hard and/or lumpy motel mattress. This one, however, was soft. As were the blankets. And the sheets smelled fresh and had a hint of lavender from the fabric softener they were washed in. It was all pretty soothing, very comfortable, quite restful...

(4)

"Rise and shine, Sammy boy!" Dean said with more cognizance than he has _ever_ had in the morning.

"Wha- huh?" Sam mumbled as he carefully opened his eyes to the daylight streaming in through the now-open bedroom curtains. He grabbed his watch from the bedside table, having to blink and rub his eyes a few times before the hands became clear. He had only been asleep for a few minutes; it was just after three. Then, remembering that it had been three-thirty when he took the watch off, he looked at it again, turned it right-side up, and checked the time – 9:32.

Sam laid back down for a moment, enjoying the opulent bed, before the night's events came back to him in harsh Technicolor. Dean had to stifle a chuckle when his brother took on an animated persona – eyes popping open so quick and sharp that you could almost hear his eyelids flapping and then literally springing from his bed, only to have the sudden change of position cause him to sway for a moment.

"Easy there, Tiger," Dean said, and Sam could _hear_ the smile in his voice even if he couldn't see it on his brother's face, standing behind Sam as he was and steadying him with a firm grip on his arm. "Slow down."

"Slow down? But the bell... and Amber... and the hunt... and the killer..."

"Dude, take a breath," Dean told him with exasperation. "Oh, and take a sip of this coffee," he said, indicating a steaming mug filled almost to the rim, sitting on the dresser, "I guarantee it is the tastiest java you have ever had."

Hot, check. Rich, also check. Tasty, double check. The Winchesters considered themselves lucky if they achieved even two out of three – and this yummy concoction also had the added bonus of being free. Sam took another, longer sip and Dean continued – with an 'I told you so' smile.

"First off, your little booby trap on the bottom step is all taken care of. I heard a shower running down the hall a couple of hours ago – woke me up – and I took care of the Sammy-made alarm before anyone could take a tumble over it. As for the girl," and the smile on his face completely vanished, "Rex and I took care of her. Apparently, there's an old root cellar under the detached garage-"

At Sam's horrified look, Dean lifted his hands in surrender.

"Hey, it's not the best solution, sure. But, it was the best we could come up with for the time being. The facts are: we are all trapped in this house – the only road out of here washed away. And, the phones are out. Rex said he tried again this morning – I guess he couldn't get a line out last night and hoped that everything would be better in the light of day. Oh, and no cell reception either.

"So, we not only have a possible poltergeist floating around, but a real live murderer-"

"Yeah," Sam cut in, setting his coffee mug back on the dresser and pulling clothes from his bag to change into, "so shouldn't we be telling the others? It's not safe for anyone to be just walking around on their own."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Dean told him in a way that almost sounded sincere, "let's gather all of the guests together, which of course includes the unknown killer, and tell them that someone in the house is a psycho and has already killed a cute little gardener girl. And by the way, we are all stuck here with this psycho... now don't everybody freak out at once."

"Yeah but-"

"Oh, and who found her you ask? Well, the two guys that have an assortment of weapons in their room and in their car, whose names are fake and so are their credentials-"

"OK," Sam said defeated, "I get it."

"Good," Dean said honestly. "We just need to come up with some kind of plan. In fact, Rex said that he would think of something, and I say 'more power to him.' After all, he's the one who invited a bunch of people to his house – and some of them _were_ already set to stay here – when he knew _something _was going on. Sure, he might not have come up with the possibility of a human being doing anything so awful, but he knew some_thing_ was here and that it might not be safe, and yet he and his wife continued not only living here and working on the house, but also inviting others to be another course in some supernatural buffet-"

"Dean!" Sam cut him off, wide eyed. "I get it, OK? What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Dean shrugged and turned away, causing Sam to follow and turn up the power of his puppy eyes. "OK, OK, stop it. I'm sorry, OK? This whole thing is just getting to me and I hate that we couldn't stop that girl from being killed and that I am now helping to cover up her death – and it just... it makes me feel... dirty or something when you... especially when Rex told me that you were the one who said we shouldn't say anything..."

Sam remembered that conversation. It seemed a lot longer ago than just yesterday. When Rex had asked him what to tell the others about the non-human house guest, he had said:

"_Well, in my experience, telling everyone up front is a bad idea. Best not to panic anyone without need. I'd say we should keep the investigation under wraps for as long as we can. We don't want anyone to get hurt and we will explain things if necessary, but I'd rather allow the others to remain happily unaware if we can."_

And, he could see the same logic applying to this situation.

"You're right, Dean," he said, not completely sure what to say in the face of his brother's openness – he just didn't have the experience. "You're right. And, we'll think of something. Hey," he said, trying not to sound too patronizing, "why don't we go down and get some more coffee?"

"Good plan," Dean said with a new smile on his face. "I snagged the last of the pot for you, but Jetta was making another batch when I left."

"You got the last of the coffee... for me?" Sam felt oddly touched.

"Well, yeah. I'd already had some," Dean told him sheepishly, walking to the door, leaving his brother to quickly finish pulling up and buttoning his jeans before giving any passer-by a show. "But, the next pot should be brewed by now. And I can't wait to get a fourth cup of that liquid heaven."

(5)

It was still raining and dreary, the sort of grey day that would make it nearly impossible to distinguish morning from noon from night without a timepiece. There were house guests spread out in a few of the rooms – most unable to do their jobs in safety in the current weather conditions.

At the bottom of the stairs, Sam could make out a few people in the lounge area. Mr and Mrs Brooks sat on opposite sides of the room, both looking hung-over, with Celeste glaring at her husband who either hadn't noticed or was simply ignoring her. Hunter and Iggy were also present, looking both sated and worn, and Sam did not want to spend too much time thinking about why. Nor did he want to contemplate Hunter's lazy, yet innocent-looking smile. Sam had not had nearly enough coffee to determine whether the electrician, who he had last seen leaving that very room with the gardener, realized or even cared that Amber was missing.

The hunters passed the dining room where Carmine, Oliver, and Sonny were eating scrambled eggs and toast, and having a friendly discussion about classic action flicks. In the kitchen, Jetta, Cierra, and Ionia were talking about some of Ionia's ideas for the sun room while making more scrambled eggs, buttering toast, and slicing up fruit respectively.

"Ah, there you are," Jetta smiled at Dean. "I was beginning to think that this last pot of coffee was going to go to waste."

"Now that would be downright detestable," Dean told her with mock horror. "Not to mention cruel and unusual punishment."

"Punishment?" Cierra asked with a laugh.

"Of course," Dean turned to her, sounding serious. "What did that poor, not to mention delectable, coffee ever do to you?"

Sam rolled his eyes at the way his brother was semi-flirting with the two married women, who were however semi-flirting right back. Sam looked over and caught Ionia watching him, smirking at his display of little brother displeasure, as Dean took the mug Sam had nearly drained and another from the counter and filled them both.

"So," the redhead addressed the newcomers, "not only is the coffee finished brewing, but I think the last of the breakfast is ready as well. Are you two hungry?"

"Will this be enough, do you think," Jetta asked distractedly as she heaped scrambled eggs onto the plate Sam was holding out to her, "for both of these strapping young men _and_ your sister?"

"Sister-in-law," Sam heard Ionia mutter. The woman then looked up and spoke to Jetta and Cierra. "Don't worry too much about Lyla," she said with a false smile. "I get the feeling she'll be sleeping in late this morning. After all, she didn't get back to our room until this morning."

"Oh," Cierra said, offering Sam some wheat toast, "I thought you were sharing your room with Miss Jessamy."

Sam looked down at his plate filled with food and his stomach suddenly turned. He noticed Dean and Jetta glance at one another and his brother quietly refused any eggs, taking a long swallow of his coffee and quickly refilled his mug once more. Cierra and Ionia, however, didn't seem to detect the change in mood and both added food to Dean's empty plate, stocking it half full with toast and fruit.

"Yes," Ionia continued, mainly to Cierra, "I am so sorry for Lyla's, um, attitude about having to share a room. I had thought that Amber was going to share with me as well, but she never showed up last night either."

(6)

Dean and Sam excused themselves to join the other men in the dining room, though they had both lost most of their appetites. Dean felt a little bad for leaving Jetta in the kitchen with the other two women who continued to discuss the rooming arrangements and who, in fact, was sharing with who. It was pretty obvious that Jetta had not been able to tell her sister what Dean and Rex had been up to in the early morning hours. Well, either that or chose to leave her sister in the dark for the time being.

Hunter and Iggy had joined the dining room discussion as well and the table seemed to be divided into those who believed Jack Ryan would win in a fight against those who thought Indiana Jones would come out on top, the sole dissenter was Carmine who told them that Han Solo would kick the others to the curb. However, both Dean and Sam agreed with the man, bringing the tally to three against two against two.

"And besides," Dean added insult to injury, "Karen Allen and Anne Archer might be tough, cute, easy on the eyes, whatever – but just try and tell me that either Indiana Jones or Jack Ryan ended up with a chick who donned a metal bikini."

The laughter at the table was cut short by loud arguing from the hallway. Apparently, Mr Brooks – Rob – had finally acknowledged his wife's glares and the two left the lounge in the middle of a full-fledged shouting match. It was difficult to pick out much of what they were saying, as they were doing their best to scream over one another, but there were heated phrases about neglect and someone's father and the word 'accident.' When said by Rob, the emphasis was on 'just an unfortunate accident' but Celeste said the word with contempt and suspicion.

The couple didn't seem to care – or possibly just didn't notice – that they had an audience, the men from the dining room and the women from the kitchen, along with Rex from his study had all come to watch from their doorways. None of the spectators knew what to do with themselves in such tempestuous marital fury.

The argument continued on toward the stairs, both participants becoming angrier and more animated. Rob began climbing the stairs while Celeste remained at the bottom, both however continued yelling at one another despite the change in distance between them.

Both Jetta and Cierra edged forward, followed by Ionia. The men, on the other hand, remained frozen where they stood.

"Just tell me," Celeste yelled at her husband's back. "Just tell me, Robin. Come clean. You were drunk, weren't you? You came back from your break, drunk to the point of not being able to do your job-"

"You have no idea what you're talking about Les," Rob yelled back, not turning around. "What happened was an accident-"

"It was _your_ job Rob. It was _your_ responsibility. You _should _have been sure. You were supposed to make sure everyone was safe. You were supposed to make sure Dad was safe-"

"And I did! To the best of my ability, I did-"

"To the best of your inebriated! Intoxicated! Drunken inability!" Celeste screamed at the top of her lungs. She was now on the second step, seemingly trying to keep Rob, who was a couple of steps from the top of the staircase, from leaving the 'discussion.' "You promised me you were done drinking. You promised me _and_ my dad that you were clean and sober. You lied then and you didn't even try to lie last night... just drank whatever you could get your hands on!"

"And you managed to drink the rest!" he shouted back, finally turning to make his point clearer.

Then it happened.

As Rob turned on the final stair, his foot caught the top step and stayed in that position as he tried to twist his body. The result was a wobbling midriff and windmilling arms, and ultimately falling. He toppled down one step and then the next like a slinky out of control. It all happened so fast that Celeste couldn't even get out of the way as her husband barreled toward her and knocked her off her feet.

The sound of two bodies hitting the hard wood floor thawed the captive on-lookers and spurred them into action. Both Dean and Sam had seen the exact moment Rob's impact with the stairs turned deadly. About a third of the way down, the man's upper body hit the edge of the step in such a way that his neck took on an angle that it was never meant to.

The hunters quickly placed themselves around Rob's still body to try and hide him from the innocent eyes of the other guests. Sam was able to block most of the situation with his shear size, as he leaned over and checked the man's pulse in the smallest of hopes that his injury was not as bad as it appeared. Dean crouched down in front of Celeste to try and obstruct her view and to see if she was hurt. He also exchanged a meaningful look with Rex, the only other person on the opposite side of the body from Sam.

"Sam," the homeowner said quietly, "why don't we take Rob into my study? We can make him more _comfortable_ on the sofa in there."

"Wait," Sonny said, stepping forward. "If he has an injury-"

He was cut off by Jetta, who grabbed his arm and quickly whispered something in his ear. The man's face went wan and he swallowed with difficulty.

"Oh," he said in little more than a whisper himself, "you're right. The sofa would be the best..."

Sonny then took a shaky step forward and offered to help Sam and Rex, and the three of them carried Rob into the office, trying to appear as though they were aiding an injured man and not attempting to clear the room of a dead body.

"How are you doing?" Dean finally turned back to Celeste and asked.

"Bastard knocked me to the ground and wrenched me knee," Celeste steamed while holding onto said knee. "How do you think I feel?"

Dean felt around her knee cap and the muscles around it. There was definite swelling, but nothing was broken. It was probably an injury to her ACL and he told her as much.

"And you're a doctor now?" Celeste asked sharply.

"Well," Dean said with the most pleasant smile he could muster, "let's just say I've had enough of these sorts of injuries to know what to look for. I think with some anti-inflammatories and something to wrap your knee with to keep it stable, you should be fine."

"There's some ibuprofen in the kitchen," Cierra said, turning and heading that direction.

"I have an Ace bandage up in our room," Ionia told him and headed up the stairs. When she was almost at the top, she stopped and looked back down at the others still gathered there. "The nosing on this top step is loose and frayed. That will need to be fixed before someone else gets hurt."

(7)

Sam, Rex, and Sonny set to their task silently, setting Rob's body down with more ease than necessary. They were each in their own heads, thinking too much to notice the others' somber quiet. Rex grabbed a quilt from a chair against the wall and covered the body, as if tucking in a child. When he got to Rob's head, he stopped and held still, thinking for a moment before meeting Sam and Sonny's eyes. The other two had no thoughts to offer and Rex held the blanket up and let it fall. If it stayed under Rob's chin, so be it. If it covered his head, well...

They were leaving the office, Rex closing the door behind them and inconspicuously locking it, all three rubbing their hands against their pant legs as if to wipe off the imagined dirtiness of their deed, when a loud scream from the second floor shocked them to a stop.

Sam saw Dean spring from his spot beside Celeste and take the stairs two at a time, reaching the top as Ionia came out shaking.

"She's... Lyla... bed... blood..."

Dean took something from the woman's hand and tossed it down to Sam before heading off in the direction of the Gridelins' room. Sam caught the object – an Ace bandage – and mechanically went to Celeste to wrap her knee, somehow knowing that was what Dean wanted him to do even though he hadn't heard the conversation that had just taken place in the hall.

(8)

The bedroom was dark. It was a wonder that Ionia could see anything, but then Dean noticed the open first aid kit on the table under the window and assumed the woman opened the curtain slightly to try and see into the kit without waking her sister-in-law. In the back of his mind, Dean thought it had been a sweet gesture for someone who didn't care at all for the person sleeping.

Having no time or issue with such niceties, Dean flipped the light switch, bathing the room in brightness. The bed on the right was neatly made, but the one on the left was chaotic. Blankets and pillows were thrown this way and that. Lyla was lying with one leg bent over the side of the bed and both arms spread out to either side. And there was blood. An awful amount of blood.

The woman's hands and arms were littered with defensive wounds still sluggishly seeping and there were two clear stabs to her torso, not including the one that still had the knife protruding from it. Dean also noticed slight finger-shaped bruises on the woman's neck and skin beneath her nails. If they could contact the police, there was a good amount of evidence here to help find out who Lyla's killer was. Unfortunately, all connections to the world outside of the estate were completely cut off to them.

Dean began wrapping the bloody blanket around the woman and noticed something odd. While the room had the distinct smell of blood – well, the Winchesters had spent years learning that sometimes faint scent – and the atmospheric aroma of the rain, there was also something else. Dean took a moment to inhale deeply and realized that the room held the slight fragrance of citrus. Taking a closer look at the knife, he saw that it was the same blade that Ionia had been using to cut up fruit for their breakfast.

* * *

**A/N**: I have changed my homepage/website on my profile to my LiveJournal site. There I have this story, as well as some photos of the characters (actors who happened to look like the characters in my mind). If you are a visual person like me, the photos may help to distinguish the cast of this story. I am hoping to change the photos and captions a bit, but there are still pics to help you out. Thanks!


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